A hail came from the rear of the train, and a bronzed and bearded man in a leather jacket cantered up on a small pony.
“Hello there, Rool! I’m whoopin’ glad to see you!”
He turned to the driver of the foremost wagon.
“All right, boys! We’ll make a layby for noon.”
Follett shook hands with him heartily, and turned to Prudence.
“This is my wife, Lew. Prudence, this is Lew Steffins, our wagon-master.”
“Shoo, now!—you young cub—married? Well, I’m right glad to see Mrs. Rool Follett—and bless your heart, little girl!”
“Did you stop back there at the settlement?”
“Yes; and they said you’d hit the pike about dark last night, to chase a crazy man. I told them I’d be back with the whackers if I didn’t find you. I was afraid some trouble was on, and here you’re only married to the sweetest thing that ever—why, she’s been crying! Anything wrong?”
“No; never mind now, anyway. We’re going on with you, Lew.”